


Overwatch Drabbles

by ahimsabitches



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Drabbles, Multi, NSFW, Other, sfw
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-28
Updated: 2016-07-28
Packaged: 2018-07-27 08:53:29
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 470
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7611619
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ahimsabitches/pseuds/ahimsabitches
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Roadhog isn't always cuddly and soft, despite the tum.</p>
          </blockquote>





	1. High

He inhales _lightning,_ coppery and hot, and he can _feel_ it singeing the delicate sacs in his lungs even as his narrow slatsided chest opens like a bellows. 

_don’t cough don’t cough don’t cough don’t  
_

He bites down on the words like a stick. A dry, tinny hiss escapes his clenched teeth, but Roadhog neither hears it or sees the tears that prick his eyes. His fingernails bite his palms through the fistfuls of the grubby blanket. 

The next breath is in like ice and out like fire. He stares at the capillaries in his eyes, pulsing dull flashes of orange lava-glow with each beat of his heart. It’s dim and red in the mask, but the spider-lights in his eyes illuminate the inside of the fogged eyeholes and the swirling miasma of brown and grey and black and red beyond. 

He giggles, the sound tinkling out of his mouth like bits of shrapnel or broken glass or little marbles– marbles in his head, all falling out of his mouth. Filling the mask, filling it to the eyeballs, pressing on his face, hot pins and needles of laughter, of _pain,_ of…

A stone–hand– handstone– lands on his arm. The _whole_ one.

He keeps giggling. He can’t stop. The shrapnelglass sound of it pours back into his mouth and is filling his throat up now. Soon it’ll reach his arm and then he’ll feel pain. 

But right now…

He giggles and watches the veins pulse in his eyes.

“Leg next,” A stone– voice– voicestone– says, from very far away. A knifewhite glint cuts through the fogged eyeholes.


	2. What is best in life?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Roadhog isn't always cuddly and soft, despite the tum.

_Roadhog,_ one of the boys, leaning nonchalantly on his bike, had asked him once, plucking the quote and the memory of it out of a wayback fold of his brain, _what is best in life?_

Like a faithful priest reciting hailmarys, Roadhog had droned in his muffled rockslide bass: _Crush your enemies. See them driven before you. Hear the lamentations of their women._

And the whole camp, a tiny darkening of the blank desert night, had laughed, deep male bellows frayed at the edges by ill-concealed fear.

The fear was hydra-headed, fanged, dogged, _hungry._ He’d watched it prey, in sips and in great toothed mouthfuls, upon the men (boys) who rode with him until the only chatter keeping him company was rattle of his bike’s loose exhaust.

He’d watched the farms shrivel and die. He’d watched the fists pump the air, then fall bloody to the dust. He’d watched the fear crush his friends, then his boys, drive them under the dirt. He’d watched himself drive his own fear onto its back; make it into his enemy.

He’d watched himself become something to be feared.

 _What is best in life,_ he asked himself now, and there was no one around to answer him.


End file.
